


golden ties, fluffy pillows and plastic wraps

by dr_awkward221



Series: when every 'no' turns into 'maybe' [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Getting Together, I never know what to tag lol, Japan National Team, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Miya Atsumu is a Little Shit, Mutual Pining, Post-Timeskip, Pushing Daisies References, Volleyball, description of a panic attack, i had to - sorry not sorry, idk im just adding things as i think, it just goes through all the steps cause i had to be a little selfindulgent pardon me, love how that is a tag that exists lol, nothing too serious but it's there, so you could say, they don't play much volleyball in this but, this is sweet and a little funny anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_awkward221/pseuds/dr_awkward221
Summary: "We could go together, y'know?" he ventures, and it feels like waving a flag above his head that reads 'this guy here is a complete idiot'."All the team will be there, of course we'll go together.""No, I mean… like, together together.""What?" Sakusa asks, and Atsumu gets the feeling he should drop it. If he'd wanted to understand he would have already understood.But he's stupid and desperate, so he elaborates.or, the sequence of events that starts with a gala dinner and ends in an Olympics volleyball game, treading the steps of two jerks figuring out what it means to love andhowexactly one is supposed to go about doing it.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: when every 'no' turns into 'maybe' [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988017
Comments: 61
Kudos: 861
Collections: skts, ~SakuAtsu~





	golden ties, fluffy pillows and plastic wraps

**Author's Note:**

> I looked away for one second and when i turned sakuatsu were holding me at gunpoint and I had no choice but to start projecting so here we are. 
> 
> Important info: there's a panic attack in this fic. It's based on how i experience them, if you want to skip the thing you can jump from "If he has to be honest Kiyoomi would have expected[...]" to the next separator sign »»»«««, where the pov switches. 
> 
> *slaps roof of fic* this bad bitch can hold so much self-indulgence in it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it, I sincerely had a blast :)

"So, ya know the V.League gala dinner?" Atsumu asks, cheek leaning on his hand and elbow propped on the table as he stares pointedly at the edge of his coffee cup to avoid eye contact with the man sitting at the table in front of him. 

"Yeah? What about it?" Sakusa replies, voice low and flat, as he makes a spoon twirl idly in his cappuccino.

"Well, are ya goin'?"

"I thought these things were mandatory."

"Yeah, but I thought we didn't care 'bout rules, Omi-kun!"

Sakusa raises a judgmental eyebrow at him and Atsumu lowers his eyes again, shoulders stiffening even more. 

"We could go together, y'know?" he ventures, and it feels like waving a flag above his head that reads _'this guy here is a complete idiot'._

"All the team will be there, of course we'll go together."

"No, I mean… like, _together_ together."

"What?" Sakusa asks, and Atsumu gets the feeling he should drop it. If he'd wanted to understand he would have already understood.

But he's stupid and desperate, so he elaborates. "Like, I'll pick you up and we'll drive there together and we'll enter the place together and we'll sit next to each other and never drift off during the night."

"Why?"

" _Wh-_ they're'll gonna be _paired up_ , Omi-kun! Think about it. Shoyo's gonna have Kageyama there to annoy, Bokkun's bringin’ Akaashi, Meian's got his wife, Inu—"

"Alright, so?" Sakusa cuts him off. "What's your point?"

"My point is. We should stick together. So we don't end up on opposite sides of the room and have to be all alone on our own."

"I'd be fine on my own." 

Atsumu huffs, and starts attacking the napkin dispenser just to have something to do with his hands. "Oh c'mon. It'll be _way_ more fun if we go together."

"I'd rather die than spend so much time next to your dirty fingernails."

"God, it was _one time,_ Omi-kun, drop it already." That _one time_ he had to help Bokuto find his keys that he had dropped in the tall grass. He had to dig them out of a muddy puddle, and even if he'd washed his hands after the deal, a little bit of mud had escaped the water and had stuck under one of his fingernails. Sakusa had looked at him all day like he had the plague and refused to hit any of his tosses, practicing with the other setters instead. It had been exaggerated and dramatic, and Atsumu is 90% convinced he had only reacted like that to piss him off, and wasn't really that disgusted. Also because after that day he kept bringing it up. He enjoyed it. 

"Please!" Atsumu goes on, joining his hands in front of his face to plead, "Think 'bout poor little me! I'll be dead for real if ya leave me alone there!"

"Can't you bring your brother to babysit you? Why do _I_ have to do it?"

"Hey, no! Not gonna bring my _little_ brother to keep me company, that's just beggin' for teasing!" 

Sakusa pursues his lips, and for how much Atsumu cherishes the few times he gets to see him without a mask on that aren't while playing volleyball, he'd really rather see him smiling than grimacing like this at the mere prospect of spending a whole evening with Atsumu by his side.

"Please?" he says again, and makes his best attempt at puppy eyes, knowing full well they won't work on him since he has tried that before to no avail, more than once in fact, even if it was mostly to get Sakusa to buy him ice cream. 

"Fine," he says at last. "It's not like we would do anything differently anyway."

Atsumu takes a second to consider what he just said. It sounded like he was implying that he would have spent the evening with Atsumu anyway, even if he hadn't asked. "Were you just plannin' to say yes all along? Yer so keen on makin' me suffer?"

"Yes, it's very funny to watch you squirm."

"Mean," he pouts.

"But I'm driving. There's no way I'm getting into your stinky car."

"My car's not _stinky_! She's an elderly woman, pay respect!" 

"She's still messy and I'm not going in there."

"Fine," Atsumu concedes, raising a hand in defeat. "I'll come by your flat around 7." 

The good thing about living close to each other wasn't only that they can have breakfast together at their favourite bar which just so happens to be the same, but also that they can make their way to practice together, making the commute less of a bore, and that Atsumu can crash in the other man's apartment relatively unannounced, provided he showered less than 15 minutes before (and it only takes him a couple of minutes from his flat to Sakusa's).

"At 7 sharp, Miya. Not _around_. Be on time or I'm leaving without you."

"Sheesh, alright. I'm not gonna be late on our date."

"Not a date. Compulsory gala dinner."

"Tomahto tohmato." 

  
  


In the following days Atsumu unsuccessfully tries to get Sakusa to agree that they should wear matching outfits, and by the time the actual day of the dinner rolls around he's only managed to make him agree to wear a gold tie Atsumu's lending him so he'll match with his gold and obnoxious jacket. 

He arrives at the flat a few minutes before 7 but he waits, looking at his phone until the clock changes from 18:59 to 19:00 before pressing the doorbell. 

It takes Sakusa less than two seconds to open the door, and Atsumu wonders if he's been waiting just behind it as well, but the jab dies on the tip of his tongue when he actually sees the other man, because _damn_ . He looks good. Like _really good._

He allows himself a few seconds just to look, at the neatly styled curls falling on his forehead, at the deep black mask already up to his nose, the black suit and black shirt that make him look like a piece of very sexy charcoal, and his own golden tie that almost seems to glow on the black backdrop.

"What are you doing?" Sakusa's voice snaps him out of his reverie and he fumbles for an answer he knows he won't find. 

In the end he settles for: "Ya look like you're 'bout to kill someone, or rob a bank."

"I'm going to kill _you_ if you don't shut up."

"Ahh, Omi-kun," he says, taking the opportunity to joke around with open arms and swirling on his feet to start walking towards the car. "Bein’ killed by you is in the top three ways I’d pick to die."

"What the hell."

"Number one is drownin' in a puppy cuddle pile," Atsumu explains, hearing the hidden question behind his words. 

"You're so weird."

"Yeah, I know. It's my charm point."

"Agree to disagree, you have no such thing as _charm points_. What's number two?"

"You are number two."

"Number three, then?"

"Old age."

Sakusa snorts, and Atsumu reconsiders moving him up to first place. Getting a heart attack after hearing him laugh at one of his jokes might really be the best way to go. 

»»»«««

Kiyoomi hates all of this. He parks carefully between two other cars, continuing to ignore Atsumu's constant chatter and thinking he might pop a vein on his forehead if he keeps being so nervous about the near future. 

Kiyoomi hates that he would go as far as to call Atsumu voice relaxing. At least it’s kind of distracting him from the fact that he is probably about to live through one of the worst nights of his life. 

He turns off the engine and looks at the other man sitting comfortably in his passenger seat. He is still talking, apparently not even realizing they have stopped since he is showing no intention of slowing down or shut up any second, and Kiyoomi still has no idea of what he's blabbering about.

He takes a few seconds to let him finish his sentence (absolutely _not_ to stare at the way his hands move around while he talks, the way his stupidly shiny gold jacket hugs his shoulders, and the way he styled his hair in a way that looks messy but makes it clear that it actually isn't). He'd be even prettier if he were less annoying. Kiyoomi hates that he likes him. He hates that he likes him even if he's stupidly obnoxious. He hates that he likes him _because_ he is stupidly obnoxious.

Kiyoomi sighs. "Miya," he says sternly, trying to get him to realize they arrived at destination and he should just shut up and get out of the car.

"Yeah, I'm goin'." He pushes the door open, and stumbles out like he was drunk. 

Oh, god. Kiyoomi hopes he won't get drunk tonight. It would be a pain to deal with, and there's the chance he'd throw up in his car. 

"What're ya grimacin' about?" Atsumu calls, bent down to look inside the car where Kiyoomi is still sitting. 

"Your face." 

"Wow, rude." 

"Don't you dare get drunk."

Atsumu raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to one side. "Huh?"

"Nevermind," Kiyoomi replies, and gets out of the car as well. 

He barely stepped foot in the hall and he's already regretting coming. He's sweating, and he can feel the heaviness of the crowd crashing against him like waves. 

There are people offering hands to shake, which he pointedly refuses, hands buried deep into his pants' pockets.

Atsumu doesn't have his same reserve and is happily shaking every hand and patting every shoulder and hugging a very enthusiastic Hinata who's parading a bright orange bow tie around his neck and a slightly dazzled Kageyama at his side. They nod at each other the way two people who up to know have only been enemies (and had really started out their acquaintance on the wrong foot the first time they ever talked properly) can, while Atsumu looks way too happy to see both of them. 

They depart from them soon enough, moving on towards the main hall, where people are mingling about, sipping on tall glasses of champagne and chatting idly in pairs or little groups. Kiyoomi knows most of them, even if just from tv, but there are some plus ones, he guesses, who he'd never seen. 

"Wow, so many hot people, this night just got better," Atsumu comments, barely a whisper, by his side. 

"If you ditch me to flirt with someone I'm scalping you."

"Ah, now that it concerns ya I can't leave ya, can I?"

"Miya." He hopes he sounds threatening but he's not sure it doesn't come across as desperate. 

"Listen, what if I help ya find someone then will ya be happy?"

Kiyoomi huffs, annoyed. "No."

"C'mon. There's gotta be someone in this room that ya like. There's so many hot people all 'round. Just pick one. I'll be yer wingman."

Kiyoomi doesn't answer, because silence is easier than the truth, which is that the only person he thinks he ever had a crush on, in the 24 years he's been alive, is the one standing right beside him.

"C'mooon," Atsumu urges, elbowing him softly on the arm. 

"No," he replies, and moves toward the drinks table to grab a glass and have something to occupy his hands and his mind. 

But then once he's there he can't bring himself to reach out and take one. He doesn't have gloves, and who knows how many people have touched those glasses before they arrived on that table. He won't touch one, let alone bring it up to his lips and drink it. 

He feels a presence by his side before he sees him, but when he turns Atsumu is there, asking the barman if he has a napkin, and when the man obliges and hands one to him he opens it carefully, wipes the rim of a glass with the inside, then wraps it in and hands it to Kiyoomi.

"There."

"Thank you," he mumbles, and has no other option but to take it. 

"No problem. Hey, wait." 

He pauses, glass already halfway to his mouth, and watches as Atsumu lifts his own to clink it against Kiyoomi's. 

"To being alone, but together."

"That's lame."

"Shush," Atsumu replies, hiding his smile against the rim of his glass. 

Kiyoomi wants to push the glass aside and kiss that smile, but he won't, because the idea of touching someone else's mouth is too gross to even think about. Even if that someone is Atsumu and he just so happens to be the person who grosses him out the least. 

"Well, this might be the best champagne I've ever tasted," Atsumu says, pulling him out of his own head and forcing him back to the present. The blond is staring into the glass as if it contains the secrets of the universe. 

"Oh really?"

"Definitely."

Kyoomi takes a calculated sip, and if his brain hadn't been so keen to make him aware of the fact that he has no idea about the origin of the drink, that it could have been lying around in a molding canister for days and he would be none the wiser because he never saw the barman pour the drinks and that this is exactly why he always buys sealed bottles and never draft and— 

"So?" Atsumu asks. 

"It's… something."

Atsumu laughs, and Kiyoomi melts a little more.

»»»«««

Saying that Atsumu is starting to be concerned would be an euphemism. As he watches Sakusa wipe down his cutlery for the second time since they sat down at the table, he wonders if he'll be better or worse once the food actually arrives. Will he try to sanitize the plate too? 

He tries his best to distract him, talking non-stop about he doesn't even know what, but his words seem to fall on deaf ears as Sakusa moves methodically through forks and knives. 

Hinata demands his attention right then, so he's forced to move his gaze away from his neighbor to look at the redhead, who goes on telling a story from when he was in Brazil and lost his wallet. He's already heard the same story a thousand times, and so have half the people sitting at their same table, but the other half his hanging off Hinata's words. It's a bit contagious, and he finds himself being interested as well. Leave it to Hinata to grab everyone’s attention so easily. And then the appetizers start to arrive, and now Atsumu's distracted by the food 'cause _damn_ , it's good. And Sakusa seems chill, he's eating, has stopped wiping down everything around him and his hands, and seems relatively calm. 

In between the main course and dessert Sakusa pushes his chair back. He's been so still and silent all dinner that it makes Atsumu jump in his chair, and swivel around to look at him. He has the same neutral expression he always has on his face, but when he looks at Atsumu he can see that his eyes are just a little bit wider than usual, and when he says "I'm going to the bathroom," his voice is just a little more shaky than normal. 

Atsumu watches him go, and only when he hears Hinata ask him "Is Omi-san okay?" realizes that maybe no, he isn't okay, and gets up to go after him.

Opening the door to the bathroom he finds Sakusa exactly where he thought he would be: meticulously scrubbing his hands at the sink.

"Omi-kun," he calls, but the other man doesn't seem to hear him. "Are ya alright?" 

Sakusa keeps washing, head lowered to stare pointedly at his hands. 

Atsumu approaches, settles at the sink next to him and washes his hands as well, carefully. Then he picks one of the paper towels, closes his faucet and then Sakusa's as well. The latter stops then, hands still under the now disappeared flow. 

"Omi." Atsumu reaches out to put a hand on his arm, be comforting, but Sakusa slips back and out of reach. 

"I'm fine," he says, still not looking up.

"Are ya sure?" Atsumu says, smiling gently because if he can pride himself of knowing the hidden workings of Sakusa Kiyoomi then he must be able to know when he is lying.

"Yes." Sakusa decides that is a good moment to look up, and freezes. “What…?” he starts, but then freezes again.

“What?” Atsumu repeats. 

“Why are you wearing…”

“Oh.” Atsumu reaches up a hand to tug his mask a little bit higher on his nose. “Well, I thought that if ya… needed help. I had to come close. And, uh. Two shields’re better than one, right?”

“Two… shields?”

“Two masks. Yers and mine.” That’s when Atsumu realises Sakusa actually isn’t wearing one, and he has a full view of the tight line his lips are set in. “Where… where is yers?”

“I left it in my jacket.” 

“Ah.” Atsumu remembers clearly now the back of Sakusa’s chair, pushed back and with his black jacket draped on it. Then before he can even start to ask if he wants him to go fetch it for him, Sakusa’s stepping forward, one hand outstretched towards him. Atsumu stills. 

This; _this_ is one of those moments he dreams about at night, a moment he never thought would come, the moment where it's Sakusa the one coming closer, reaching out for _him_. He can't do anything except stand still and let it happen. He can’t risk scaring him away. This is delicate. 

He lowers his gaze, following his long fingers as they curl around the wrist of his jacket sleeve and squeeze the fabric. 

It’s not even close to holding hands, but it somehow feels even more precious. 

“Omi—”

“Just shut up for a second, will you?” Sakusa replies, words menacing but voice barely a whisper.

“Okay.”

Sakusa takes one more step, and then their chests are touching, just barely, and only the left half of them, but it’s happening. Sakusa Kiyoomi is actually hugging him, and Atsumu feels like combusting. 

He feels a hand rest in the middle of his back, and he feels Sakusa’s chin rest on the outer edge his shoulder. 

He raises his hands and places them on his back, daring a little squeeze, testing his luck, thumbing at the borders to see which ones he’s allowed to cross. 

They stay still like that for he doesn’t know how long, stuck in a half embrace with no skin actually touching, until he hears the door open. 

He raises his head and opens his eyes (when had he closed them?) to look at the mirror where he can see the door, and finds none other than Bokuto, staring back at him with wide eyes and a growing grin on his face. 

“Ah, you’re being gay. Good job, carry on,” Bokuto says, and the door closes back behind him. 

“ _Shit._ ” Atsumu hisses, and Sakusa is suddenly way too far away from him, and looking pointedly at the sink, almost ignoring his presence. “Omi-kun?” he calls, softly. “Are ya okay?”

“Yes,” Sakusa replies. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

“Okay. I’m just gonna… uh.” He points at the door behind him. “Bokkun—”

“Yeah.” Sakusa cuts in. “Go.”

“Alright.” And with that he turns his back to him and bolts out of the door. 

“Bokuto!” he rumbles, and the addressed turns around with a look of dread on his face. Good, let him be afraid. He sees him on the edge of bolting just soon enough to add: “Don’t ya dare move an _inch_ from where yer standin’!”

Bokuto stills, and turns fully to face him. 

“What’s up, Tsum-Tsum?” he asks, nonchalant, as if Atsumu hadn’t been running after him with murder eyes and he hadn't been on the verge of dashing away. 

“Ya’ve seen nothing, ya hear me?”

Bokuto’s eyebrows shoot up in his forehead, and he starts nodding frantically. 

“Don’t tell no one!” Atsumu adds for good measure, pushing a finger against his chest. 

Bokuto shakes his head very fast from side to side. “Promise!” he shouts, and Atsumu shushes him. They’re still in the middle of a room packed full of people. That’s when he notices that Akaashi is standing right there next to them. He’s so quiet and still that Atsumu hadn’t even seen him.

“I won’t tell either,” Akaashi provides, when Atsumu locks eyes with him. 

“Wha— Ya already told him!?” he turns back to Bokuto, who shrugs weakly and raises a hand towards Akaashi with a strangled “eehhh”. Atsumu sighs. 

“I’ll check he doesn’t tell anyone else, don’t worry,” Akaashi supplies. 

“Thanks.” 

“Why are you so worked up anyway?” Bokuto comments, resting his hands on his hips and tilting his head sideways. “It’s not like any of us will care if you two are dating.”

Atsumu feels saliva get stuck in his throat, and coughs out a: “No— uh, it’s not— I mean. We’re not—” 

“Oooooh,” Bokuto cuts in. “Alright. Ambiguous territory, I get it," he says, nodding gravelly. " _Ambiguous_?" he adds then, turning towards Akaashi with a questioning look. 

"Yes, it's correct," Akaashi replies with a sigh. 

“There’s nothin’ ambiguous!” Atsumu spits out, bringing the focus back on the matter at hand. “ _We’re just friends_ ,” he adds in a hiss. 

“Sure,” Bokuto says. “‘Cause Omi-Omi would just hug all his friends, right.”

“Shuddup, I _know_!”

“What’s the problem, Tsum-Tsum?”

“I dunno. I just… can’t risk ruinin’ it.”

“Ruin what?”

“Everythin’” 

“Aw!” Before he can stop it Bokuto is wrapping him up in a hug, and Atsumu meets Akaashi tired eyes from above his shoulder. He mouths ‘just let it happen’ to him, and Atsumu sighs, patting Bokuto’s back. It’s not that he doesn’t like a good Bokuto-hug now and then, he loves them, in fact, but they tend to be a bit too long, and he needs to get back to the bathroom to make sure Sakusa is okay. 

“Bokkun,” he wheezes, when the hold starts being a bit too strong. “Please…” He honestly has no idea how Akaashi does it, if he had to live 24/7 with the threat of a sneak Bokuto-hug he would not only be on edge all the time waiting for it, but he’d also have a couple of cracked ribs. 

“Bokuto,” comes Akaashi’s voice, his saviour, his angel. “Let him go.”

Bokuto does, with one last squeeze and a pat on the shoulder. "You don't have to worry, Tsum-Tsum," he tells him.

“I have to go back—”

“Yes, go!” Bokuto urges him, “Sorry!”

“We can hug better tomorrow, alright?”

Bokuto smiles, gives him two thumbs up, and gets dragged back to his table by Akaashi. 

Atsumu runs back to the bathroom only to find that Sakusa is not in there anymore. He runs to their table, then, and finds him sitting in his chair, thumbing through his phone with a bored look on his face. 

“Here you are,” Sakusa comments as soon as he spots him approaching his own chair. “Took you long enough.”

Atsumu plops down in his chair and gives him a look, “Well, yer welcome. Don’t even mention it.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes, and Atsumu notices a little twist of his mouth that could almost be called a smile. 

He supposes asking if he’s okay is not necessary, after all.

When the desserts come he asks him if he wants to share half of his, and he looks at him as if he had just proposed eating something he found on the ground. Which means that yeah, he’s fine. 

Atsumu smiles to himself and digs into his torte, satisfied with how the situation had been resolved. 

»»»«««

If he has to be honest Kiyoomi would have expected the perfect time for a full-blown panic attack would have been right after the gala dinner, since he’d been in the middle of a crowd all evening, touching and putting things into his mouth, and had been so close to one in the middle of it all. But that night had been pleasantly uneventful (maybe he’d just been tired, maybe he still had a residual calmness from hugging Atsumu), and instead here he is now, a full three days later, looking at himself in his bathroom mirror and convincing himself he isn’t dying. 

He doesn’t know why it‘s happening now, he’s not particularly stressed about anything, and he just got home from practice, so it isn’t like he just has to burn excessive energy in some way. He’s already exhausted. And there his brain goes, making things worse. He knows there is no logic to it, that when it happens it happens, but still he always tries and fails to find meaning.

He scrubs forcefully at his hands, not because he thinks they’re dirty, but because it’s a familiar enough motion that usually calms him down enough. It’s what he does to keep panic attacks from happening, and usually it works. If he focuses hard enough on getting to every crook and fold of his skin, getting under his fingernails, he won’t think about anything else. A stabbing pain goes through his left arm. It’s gone in an instant, it’s probably because he made a weird movement with his shoulder at practice, or had been leaning on it too heavily on the couch, or it’s a heart attack, and he’s dying.

He closes the faucet. Tonight it’s no use.

“You’re _fine_ ,” he tells his reflection in the mirror. “You’re young and healthy, you’re fine.”

He doesn’t listen, though. His face feels all weird, like it’s crumbling apart, or the skin is melting off the bones, and he holds up his still wet hands, pressing them on his cheeks. It’s not gonna stop his skin from melting off, but maybe it can slow down the process. 

And then his chest starts to hurt too, and he can’t really see his reflection anymore, can’t put it into focus, and he walks out of the bathroom. 

_You’re walking, you’re fine. You wouldn’t be walking if you were having a stroke._

The reasoning manages to calm him down for about three seconds, until his legs start hurting too, and he has to sit down on the couch cause his knees are shaking so bad he feels he might fall on the floor. 

He raises a hand and places two fingers on his throat, to feel his own heartbeat, to convince his stupid brain that he’s _fine_ , that’s his heart is beating like normal and that all the pains are made up. 

It doesn’t work. His heart rate is out the roof, and it’s not regular at all. It goes even faster when he exhales and _god_ that can’t be normal. 

He looks around for his phone, knowing he had it with him earlier when he’d been chilling on the couch, before this whole horror show sponsored by his brain had started. 

He ponders if he should call the ambulance. But no, he knows it’s not real, he knows he’s not really dying. Or is he? 

In the end he calls Atsumu, because… well, he isn’t sure, but he usually does wonders to distract him from his own thoughts, speaking so much he makes his throat sore, drowning out even the loudest of voices in his head. 

Just hearing the dial tone calms him down a bit. 

Will he be home already? He’d gone out with the team after practice, a thing they did sometimes, and Kiyoomi almost always declined. Atsumu almost always accepted, but lately he’d taken to go home with him instead, and spend the evening watching some overly complicated movie of the kind that has you looking up explanations at the end of it. Kiyoomi’s favourite kind of movie. Tonight he’d been hoping in an evening just like that. Instead Atsumu had been whisked away (not that he heard him complain about it) and Kiyoomi had been left alone. He’d eaten dinner, watched his movie, but with that constant feeling in the pit of his stomach that if indulged always leads to this. And here he is. Wondering if Atsumu’s back home already. He hasn’t even bothered to check the time. It could be 2 am for all he knows. Maybe he’s asleep. Maybe— 

“Whassup, Omi-Omi!”

Kiyoomi lets out a shaky breath, covering the phone microphone with a hand. 

Maybe it will all be fine.

»»»«««

It’s way half past eleven, and according to his ideal sleeping schedule, Atsumu should be in bed, already asleep. But he got distracted watching youtube videos, and he still had to take a shower, so that’s why, at the exact hour of 23:48, his phone ringing and cutting off the music he was listening to while showering finds him standing in the middle of the bathroom and about to start drying his hair. 

He grumbles at the interruption to the song he was so graciously belting out to, and looks at the screen. The caller ID is “Omi-Omi” and he doesn’t hesitate a second before sliding the green circle to the left. 

“Whassup, Omi-Omi!” he greets, and is answered only by silence on the other end. 

“Omi?” he repeats. Still silence. Maybe it was a butt-dial. He checks the phone to see if the line has dropped, but the call is still going. He tries one more time: “Hello?” he says. 

This time there is an answer. “Hey.” It’s very quiet, but it’s there. 

“Hey, whatcha doing up so late?” he asks. If there’s someone who goes to sleep at religiously the same hour every day that’s got to be Sakusa. 

“I-” his voice cuts, Atsumu can hear a breath, slightly ragged and wet, then “I can’t sleep.”

“Aw, sorry ta hear that.” Atsumu nests the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can have free hands to keep getting ready for bed. “Want company over the phone?”

He only hears a soft “hm” in reply. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling up his pants. He doesn’t sound okay, but hey, maybe it’s just the line that’s disturbed. 

“N- not really, to be honest,” this too is barely more than a whisper.

Atsumu stills, grabbing his phone with his hand again and leaning against the sink. “Oh, what’s- what’s wrong?” 

“I’m having a panic attack.”

“Ah.”

“Mh.”

“Do ya… uh. Uhm. I—”

“Can you come over?” After that Sakusa makes a sound of surprise, as if he just surprised himself by asking that. Atsumu is surprised too. He’d guess Sakusa’s panic had to be tied to other people being too close, getting germs on him, but now he had asked company? From _Atsumu_?

“Yeah, yeah, sure, I’ll just—” he darts out the bathroom and to his room, to grab a hoodie, “Lemme get my shoes, and I’m there.”

“Okay.”

“Two minutes.”

“Okay. You don’t have to run.”

He runs. 

“I’m here, can ya open?” he says into the phone, since neither of them had bothered to end the call just yet. 

“Yes, coming,” Sakusa says, and he can hear his footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. He ends the call and pockets his phone. 

“Hey,” Atsumu greets as soon as the door is open. He smiles, and tries to pretend like everything is fine. Probably best to go straight to the distraction part and not focus on the panic at all. Let’s not even _acknowledge_ it. 

“Hi. Thanks for coming.”

“No problem, dude.” He steps in, toes off his shoes and silently pads to the bathroom to wash his hands. Sakusa lingers by the door frame silently watching him. He’s not wearing a mask, and Atsumu asks him if he has one for him, but Sakusa shakes his head. “You don’t need it.”

“Alright,” he complies, and they walk back to the living room, sitting on the couch. “Wanna watch a movie or something?” Atsumu asks, reaching out for the remote. 

“Not really.” 

He turns his head toward his friend, and sees him swallow with some effort. He’s sitting slouched forward on the furthest edge of the couch, and his hands are gripping the fabric of his checkered pajama pants at his knees. 

Except for that, he doesn’t look to be in a panic. He looks quite normal, in fact. He looks just like he always does when he’s a little tense during meetings or on public transport, and Atsumu can’t figure out what it means. Does he actually have panic attacks frequently and no one notices because they are so quiet, or is he just good at hiding it now cause Atsumu is there? 

“What can I do?” he asks. “What do you need?”

Sakusa looks up at him, raises a hand to his hair and pushes his bangs back (with little success, since they fall back down immediately). “Convince me I’m not dying.”

Atsumu stays still for a second, looking at him and trying to wrap his head around it. “Water?”

Sakusa raises an eyebrow at him. Then nods, along with a little shoulder raise. 

“Come with me,” Atsumu stands up, and offers a hand. Sakusa surprisingly takes it. He squeezes his fingers tight, as he pulls him up, and then silently follows him to the kitchen. 

Atsumu pours two glasses of water (he’s proud of himself for remembering where the glasses are) and hands one to Sakusa, who takes it without a word and starts sipping from it as if it were a cocktail. 

“So, tastes good?”

“It’s water,” Sakusa replies, dryly. 

“Is it good water? Is it _refreshin’_?”

“I guess…”

“Good. Then yer good.”

“Uh?”

“Look at ya,” he says, pointing a hand at him. “Yer standin’ up, holdin’ a glass with yer own hand and drinkin’ from it.”

Sakusa looks down at himself, then suddenly the deep crease between his eyebrows flattens out and he raises his eyes again to meet Atsumu’s. “Right,” he says, and takes a deep breath. “Right.”

Atsumu nods. “Totally. Now, wanna watch a movie? Or do ya wanna just hear me talkin’ about this awful video I was watchin’ back home?”

“It’s… actually, talk. Please.”

“Oh.” Well, he wasn’t expecting that at all. He’d added the second part only as an incentive to make him chose the movie. This evening seems to be just full of surprises. 

“Well, come back to the couch?” he suggests, moving towards the door. 

Sakusa nods and grabs at the sleeve of his hoodie, as if he wanted to hold his hand again but didn’t dare to. Atsumu offers it, and Sakusa takes it without complaints, and when they sit back on the couch he’s barely an inch away from him, and he leans his head against his shoulder. “If you get stiff just tell me,” Sakusa says, and he still doesn’t let go of his hand. 

Atsumu feels like he’s the one who died and went straight to heaven, but he won’t say it, instead he launches on the longest tirade ever about how Ocean Waves was just gay and Ghibli had to change it because it was too ahead of time or maybe they got scared, and how really awful it is as a movie and how angry it makes him and— 

Sakusa actually laughs a couple of times. 

When he’s finished Atsumu clears his throat, drinks up his water, and looks down at his friend. “How’re ya doin’ down there?” 

“Mh. Bit better. Thanks.” He yawns, and Atsumu thinks it might be the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“Anytime. Want to try and sleep?” 

“Mmh. Maybe.” 

“Alright, then I’ll go—” he's already sitting up, but a hand shoots up and blocks him by the arm.

“No, stay.” Sakusa looks deadly serious, and Atsumu can’t bring himself to say no. 

That’s how he finds himself sharing a bed with Sakusa Kiyoomi, fresh out of a panic attack, and two fluffy pillows nestled between them as a wall. 

Atsumu had fantasized about this. He'd be a liar if he claimed he hadn't. Still, what he'd pictured were cuddles, and kisses, not finding himself shoulder to shoulder with a way too fat pillow keeping him from 'accidentally' wrapping his arms around Sakusa in his sleep. And he knew he had no right to complain, he'd had his fair share of cuddles on the couch and it had already been more than he ever dared to wish for, so he should just settle down and get to sleep. Except he can't, because Sakusa is _right there_ , and he'd never slept this close to him before, not even on away games, since he either managed to secure a single room all to himself, or camped in the furthest corner of the shared room and disappeared under the covers before anyone could even get a foot into their pajamas. 

Now he's just there. Barely an arm away. And Atsumu is not allowed to touch. He can hear his breathing, steady and quiet, and wonders if he managed to fall asleep.

"Omi-kun?" he calls out softly. No answer. That's good. He's glad he was able to calm down enough to fall asleep. 

But there's no way _he_ can. Not only cause he drank maybe a bit too much coke at dinner, though maybe that's the main reason his eyes just don't want to fall shut. There's a lingering thought in his head. A speech he's been rehearsing for days, well, _nights_ , lying awake in his bed and telling it to the ceiling or to his old Vabo-chan plushie.

He shifts slowly, so as to not move the mattress too much and wake Sakusa up. He turns to face the pillow between their heads, and props himself up on an elbow to look above it. It's dark, and he can't see anything except the dark silhouette of Sakusa’s cheekbone and the even darker mass of his hair against the pillow. 

He could try rehearsing it to the actual future receiver of it. Try to see if it flows right, if it sounds cringey when he's actually saying it out loud to a person.

"Omi-kun." He tries again, because he needs to be absolutely sure he is asleep before doing what he wants to do. 

Still no answer except breathing. 

Atsumu takes a deep breath, fights the urge to reach over and touch his hair, and whispers: "Ya know, I like ya so much I think I'm gonna blow up one a' these days. I like ya so much I kinda hate ya for it." Well, good job, he's already going off script. Might as well go on and say the truth then. "I don't think I'm ever gonna tell ya for real, though, cause I'm pretty sure ya'll never like me back and I'm not ready for another rejection, ya know? I just... needed to say it out loud, I guess. I'm tired of only saying it to Vabo-chan." He pauses for a second, registering what he just said. " _God_ , I really hope yer really asleep and not fakin' it, this is embarrassing," he finishes off with a sigh, then drops back on his own pillow and buries his face into it as if to hide a blush no one would be able to see anyway. 

"Miya," he hears, and the blood in his veins freezes, then starts running again in the opposite direction. He raises his head slowly, and finds a looming dark silhouette sitting up on the bed next to him. 

"Oh, shit," he whispers, and finds he can't move. 

"Did you mean that?" 

"What?" he finds himself asking, stupidly. 

Sakusa huffs. "That little speech. That you like me…?" he sounds so uncertain about it and Atsumu both cherishes and loathes the lights for being out. On one hand he would love to see Sakusa's face right now, on the other, he's pretty sure none of this conversation would be happening if the lights were on and he feels safe under the cover of darkness. 

Safe enough to tell the truth. "Yeah. Wouldn't've said it in secret, otherwise, don'tcha think?"

"Right." 

"Ya shouldn't have heard that, though. Ya can forget all 'bout it"

"No way, that was the worst confession I've ever heard. I'm holding you up to it."

Atsumu groans. "Can't ya just answer like a normal person?"

"When you tell me like a normal person, sure."

"Dear god," Atsumu groans, hiding his face back into his pillow. "I like ya," he mumbles. 

"I didn't quite catch that can you repeat?"

"I said!" Atsumu cries, pushing himself up on both elbows and shutting his eyes to pretend he was still hiding, "I like ya, ya jerk!"

"Conflicting message. Unclear. I give this one a 3 out of 10, manages to be worst than the first one, to be honest."

"Aren't ya talkative on this fine night, Omi-Omi? What's gotten into ya, the blabbering virus?"

"Must have caught it from you."

"Serves ya right for inviting me over to cuddle!"

"I'm sorry for having a panic attack, it's not my fault you're the only person who calms me down." 

Atsumu opens his mouth to retort again, but the words sink in faster than what it takes him to find something to say and he's stuck. "I… what?" he whispers.

"You heard me."

"I didn't— _wow,_ Omi— uh, I…"

"Don't make it weird. I thought you'd figured it out already."

"Right. _Right_ . No, I'm dense. _Goddammit_. I'm such an idiot."

"Yeah." 

"Hey! Conflicting words! Message unclear!"

"I like you too, asshat."

"Okay."

"Can I… turn the light on?" 

Before Atsumu can get a strangled _no_ out Sakusa has already flipped the switch and suddenly Atsumu doesn't care much about not being safely hidden anymore because the sight of Omi _blushing_ has to be worth a thousand other humiliations.

"Ah," he breathes out, and manages to push himself up to a sitting position without breaking eye contact. "Wow."

"You're a mess," Sakusa notes, and Atsumu lets himself fall back down, and turns away from him.

"God Omi! Yer _killin' me!_ Be gentle, be gentle! My heart can't take all these emotions!"

"Sorry, I still think you're pretty even if your hair's messy."

Atsumu clutches at his hood and pulls it above his head, hiding even more. "That makes it _worse_! Oh God!"

"Shut up! I'm the one who should complain about emotional roller coasters for tonight!"

Right. The panic. 

He turns around slowly, to look him in the eyes again, hands still curled around the hem of his hood. "Yer good?"

" _Yes,_ I'm fine." He sighs. "I'm used to them, they're quick to go."

"Okay. Can I kiss you then?"

"No."

“Playin’ hard to get, aint’cha?”

“No, it’s just gross.”

“But ya said you liked me!”

“Shut up! I’m not… I’m not ready for that,” he replies, voice growing quieter and quieter with every word. 

“Hey, it’s alright. I’d wait for forever for ya, I don’t mind.”

Sakusa looks down and away, and Atsumu moves his fingers to close around the sheets under him to keep them from reaching out and touching things they shouldn’t. He doesn’t want to ruin it. He knows he will, sooner or later, but if he can just stay focused and try, maybe he can last a bit longer. 

“Why?” Sakusa asks, and for a second Atsumu wonders if he had accidentally spoken out loud, but then he goes on, “Why me?”

“Are ya askin’ why I like ya?” Atsumu wonders, eyebrows scrunching up together. “Yer stupid or somethin’? I thought ya went to college.”

Sakusa looks up again to meet his gaze, and raises an unimpressed eyebrow. He’s expecting a real answer. 

“Dude, you. Are. _Awesome_. Super smart, for starters,” he raises his hands to count his points on his fingers. “Pretty as hell, like seriously, and not to mention yer like super good at volleyball and that’s worth like a hundred points at least.”

Sakusa breathes out noisily from his nose, and Atsumu can’t tell if it’s an annoyed huff or a ‘that’s funny’ huff. 

“I’m serious!” he says, just in case. “Yer very interesting, and I like spendin’ time with ya. Watching yer stupid movies that only you can understand. Hearin’ you talk about those plants of yers. Make fun of me.”

“You like hearing me make fun of you,” Sakusa deadpans, unimpressed.

“Immensely.”

“Lame.”

“Hey!”

“When… when did you… figure it out? I mean, that you _liked_ liked me.”

“Uhm.” Atsumu raises a finger to his chin, and looks up to the ceiling in thought. “That’s gotta be during that All-Japan Youth training camp. First time we met.” 

Sakusa makes a face he usually reserves only for particularly dirty socks, and Atsumu can’t help but laugh. “What’s that face for?”

“Seriously? 16 year old me? That guy? You liked _that guy_.”

“Yup,” Atsumu confirms, still chuckling. “What’s so bad? You were very cool and detached. And one of the top three spikers of Japan that’s like… the dream for any setter with a bit of common sense.”

“How does that include you?”

“Hey, ya like me too, shuddup!” 

“I don’t like the you that liked _that_ me.”

“What’s so bad about that you?”

“I… I mean my hair was just awful.”

Atsumu laughs again. 

“It was! I washed it way too much and ruined it.”

“I liked it.”

“You have very poor taste.”

“No, I don’t.”

Sakusa raises another judgemental eyebrow at him and Atsumu thinks he’d be happy to spend his entire life being at the receiving end of those looks. 

“When did ya start liking _me_?” he asks, because it’s only fair he gets to know. 

Sakusa sighs. “Like… last year.”

“What! Ya didn’t fall in love with me at first sight as soon we met again in the Jackals?! Liar!”

“No, it was after that little… _thing_ you had with Hinata.”

“I didn’t _have no thing_! I got killed even before starting! Wait, were ya jealous cause I got a crush?”

“No,” Sakusa says, but he looks away saying it so Atsumu knows it actually means yes.

“Aww! Hey, I promise I’m not gonna fall in love with any more spikers I meet in the future, so ya can relax.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Ya've got the exclusive.”

“How generous of you.”

“I know, I know. Wait, just last year?” he says, thoughts catching up to his mouth. “That means… I spent like…” he takes a while to do the math in his head, but finally, “eight years! Liking you! And you just… Just one! It’s not fair! Was I really that bad?”

“Yes.”

“Hey!”

“You were obnoxious and insufferable, I think even your teammates hated you with how much a perfectionist jerk you were, and I still don’t know what was the deal with your hair.”

“You really going off against our hair tonight.”

“Seriously. The color of piss.”

“EW! No!”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.”

“But I was cool! I was super smooth and sexy. I had so many fans, how do you explain that!”

“You were a selfish and annoying _asshole_. That thing you did before serving, god I wanted to strangle you and I would have if only I didn’t find the thought of putting my hands near you so repulsive.”

Atsumu raises his eyebrows and flinches back a little, kinda moved by those words. “Wow.”

“Oh.” Sakusa looks at him, and a flash of worry crosses his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Atsumu shakes a hand in front of his face. “I deserve that.”

“You’re way better now.”

“Gee, thanks,” he puts sarcasm in his tone, but he smiles.

“You’re still annoying.”

“But ya like it,” he finishes for him, leaning forward again. 

“But I like it,” Sakusa repeats, then shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

Atsumu laughs again, cause he’s not sure what to say next and he feels way too giddy to try and find something to fill the silence. 

This is stupid. He feels like a little kid, butterflies swarming in the pit of his stomach because _his crush likes him back_ . He supposes it’s not that weird, feeling like a kid. He was one not so long ago, and despite his best efforts to _adulting_ (living on his own, earning his own money, paying taxes, going grocery shopping, doing the laundry) he still doesn’t think of himself as an _adult_ . Twenty-four isn’t _adult_ . It's that stupid middle ground between a kid and a man, where adults expect you to be mature, and you still have no intention of even _trying_ to be mature. It’s the time of your life to feel invincible. Atsumu doesn’t feel invincible. He still feels too young to own a house, too young to be worldwide famous, too young to fall in love, and yet here he is. 

He looks at Sakusa as he plops back down and turns his back to him, and thinks ‘is this it?’ Is this what it’s supposed to be like? He doesn’t even feel frustrated because he didn’t get a kiss. He’s just happy. It’s a little gross, if he thinks too much about it, and he decides not to. 

He hides his face in his pillow, and mumbles: “Turn off the dang light.”

Sakusa complies without a word, and after that there’s only silence and darkness and a good night’s sleep. 

»»»«««

Kiyoomi’s dying, and it’s not something unusual, but this time the reason is different. There’s no panic with the realization that yes, this is it, his time has come. No short breath, no chest pains, just a dull ache in his stomach, but he has to admit it’s kind of a pleasant ache, and yes, it feels like his heart is constricting in on itself, but it’s _nice_. If this is dying it’s acceptable, and the last thing he’ll get to see is Atsumu doing a stupid dance and making a fool of himself in the middle of his kitchen, so if that’s how it’s going to be, he’s okay with it. 

It really shouldn’t have come at a time like this. Realizing you’re in love with someone shouldn’t happen while they’re frantically waving their arms around and shaking their butt in a way that looks quite painful for their back, but that is exactly what’s happening, and Kiyoomi is mad about it, but not enough to complain because he’s also happy, and he would have never guessed he’d feel like this someday, watching his boyfriend being stupid, and feeling his heart ache from it. 

“You’re such a bastard,” he says, raising his voice a little to be heard over the music and Atsumu’s loud singing. 

“Why?” Atsumu replies, not even complaining about the insult, just going on dancing like nothing happened. 

“Cause I love you and you’re like this!” Kiyoomi shouts, then stands up from where he was seated at the kitchen table, leaving his tea behind and moving to the couch. 

He hears the music stop suddenly, and Atsumu appears at the threshold with wide eyes and wild hair, sweaty and red in the face. He shouldn’t have gone so hard on that dancing. 

“You _what_ ,” he says, strangled, and Kiyoomi is concerned for a second that he’s choking, before realizing he’s only out of breath. 

“I love you?”

“Is that a question.”

“No, I’m just surprised by it.” He’s not actually surprised. It feels logical and organic. The only possible outcome. 

“You—! _Ugh_!” Atsumu throws his hands in the air and goes to sit next to him on the couch. He offers a hand, palm up. Sakusa looks at it for a second, and doesn’t take it. 

“Seriously?”

“You’re sweaty, it’s gross.”

“Shut yer mouth! I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout the hand! Ya just said ya loved me!”

“Did I, now?”

“ _Yes_!” He sounds so desperate and Kiyoomi is living his best life. Maybe it’s a bit mean, to enjoy so much torturing the man he’s in love with, but to be honest he deserves it a bit, and Atsumu tortures him back just the same.

“Funny,” Kiyoomi says, leaning back on the couch and taking the remote to turn the tv on. “I don’t remember it.”

Atsumu moans a complaint, but sits back too, and demands the remote to have control over the channels.

Kiyoomi gives in, because that’s what he does, when it’s Atsumu who’s asking, and sighs when he stops on a cheery opening of some tv-show. Kiyoomi doesn’t care much for sitcoms. They just can’t hold his attention long enough for them to be worth his time. But Atsumu lives and breathes those kinds of shows, so he watches with him, if only to have a little bit of background information when Atsumu goes off on one of his soliloquies about this character, and that relationship, and that pineapple. 

“Oh, this one is _good_ , Omi-Omi, yer gonna like it.”

“What’s it about?” he asks, already not understanding the dynamics on screen.

“So, this guy, Ned, _him_ ,” he says, pointing at the screen, “Can wake up dead people with a touch.” He pokes at Kiyoomi’s hand, just a little jab, it’s not even annoying, and that’s maybe the most annoying part about it. “But if he touches them a second time they die again, right? So, he helps the policeman, _i like the policeman he's funny_ , to solve murders, coz it’s easier when you can literally ask the victim to tell ya who killed them, but yeah, not always that easy, or there wouldn’t be the show- OH, and the girl is _dead_!”

“What?”

“The girl,” he points at the screen again, where a woman has indeed appeared. Kiyoomi hadn’t even realized he wasn't watching the tv anymore while Atsumu explained. 

“Right.”

“Yeah, she died in an accident I think, and the guy, Ned, he’s in love with her since they were kids or somethin’, and I think it wasn't on purpose but he brings her back. And now it’s a problem cause they love each other but can’t touch, or she’ll die,” he concludes, leaning his shoulder slightly against Kiyoomi’s before pulling back again and settling down to watch the episode. 

“That sounds more interesting than your usual.”

“It is, just watch it.”

It’s surprisingly enjoyable. The characters are nice, the writing is pretty good, and the plot is way more intelligent than Kiyoomi thought it would be. All in all he enjoys it. 

“That was nice,” he comments while the credits rolling on screen get interrupted by a commercial. 

“It is! We can watch more if you liked it!”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t you wanna know how it goes on? If they resolve the no touch situation? If the lady—”

“Did you already watch all of it?”

“Yeah, but it was some time ago, I don't remember it very well. What’s your point?”

“You could just tell me what happens.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Do they solve it?”

“Ah so you _do_ care about it.”

Kiyoomi shrugs. 

“Wait.” Atsumu scrambles back into the kitchen and emerges again with his phone in hand. He sits back and taps away something that Kiyoomi can’t see because he shields his screen with one hand. “There,” he finally announces, and turns the phone towards Kiyoomi. 

It’s a youtube video of a clip from the show. It’s called “Ned+Chuck+plastic wrap” and he’s not even finished reading the title when the characters in the video stop talking and they’re kissing, with a piece of plastic wrap held tight between their faces. 

“That’s smart,” he comments. 

“D’ya think he can breathe under there?” Atsumu asks, replaying the video again and observing intently the way the girl smashes the plastic against his face, wrapping him up. 

“No idea. Want to try?”

“What?” Atsumu asks, looking up and forgetting all about his phone, which goes on to play the next video, a compilation of best moments from the show. 

Kiyoomi stops the video, then looks up as well, only to realize that he’ll never get tired of seeing Atsumu blush. “Isn’t that why you showed me?”

“N-not really, I didn’t— even— didn’t even think about it.”

“Sure, and I believe you.”

Atsumu struggles around words for some more, then Kiyoomi decides he’s suffered enough for today, and puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m down to try. If you choke it will just be a pro.”

Atsumu looks confused for a second, then determined. “I won’t die from the wrap!” he declares, raising up to his feet and disappearing into the kitchen again. 

Kiyoomi sighs, gets surprised by the way his breath catches on the way out, and gets up to follow his boyfriend who he’s never even kissed. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. It’s one of the things he wants more than anything. He’s just… he has tried. They have tried. And it was just a bit… _too much_ for him, so they never actually went through with it. Another proof that Atsumu must be just the best out there. Kiyoomi was sure not everyone would be so patient with him and his freaky brain. 

When he gets to the kitchen Atsumu has already cut off a piece of wrapper and he’s holding it out manically, with a wild look in his eyes. 

“You look like you’re about to commit a felony.”

“'S gonna be a crime against the world if I don’t do this right.”

“Relax,” Kiyoomi says, getting closer. “It can’t be worse than the other times.”

Atsumu takes a deep breath, and Kiyoomi can’t help but chuckle at how serious and focused he looks, right now. 

“Don’t make fun of me!” Atsumu complains, and Kiyoomi takes the wrap from his hands, pushes it against his face, waits a second to check he’s not actually choking him, and then leans in to press his lips against his. 

It’s… something. 

Not the best first kiss someone could wish for, but Kiyoomi has to pick his battles, and judging by the way his heart rises in his throat he supposes it’s quite good. 

He opens his eyes to look at Atsumu, and he has to pull back a second to catch his breath, pulling the plastic away from Atsumu's face. He'd never been this close to him before, so close to be able to see every eyelash, every pore, every _thing_. 

Atsumu is beautiful. He knew this, of course he knew, but there's just something about seeing him so vulnerable, lips slightly parted, eyes half lidded opening up in confusion, probably wondering why it lasted so little. 

"Okay?" he asks, and Kiyoomi hates the concern in his voice. He just wants to be normal, to be able to kiss his boyfriend without having a breakdown, and to not have him constantly be worried about him. 

"Yes," Kiyoomi answers, and maybe it comes out a bit too harsh, because Atsumu flinches slightly. "Again?" he asks to make up for it. 

Atsumu nods slightly, smiling all pleased with himself, and Kiyoomi kisses that smile off his lips. This time he focuses more on the outside, on the way his lips feel against the plastic against Atsumu’s, and he can almost pretend the middle layer isn’t there, even if it’s comforting to know that it is. It’s like how sometimes he’ll forget he’s wearing a mask and will try to eat something through it. Feeling comfortable enough to forget about the walls you put up to make that comfort possible in the first place. He doesn’t know if it’s good or not. He hopes that, if he starts forgetting about the plastic now, maybe one day he won’t need it. Maybe one day he’ll be able to kiss Atsumu for real, and maybe then he’ll feel a little bit more normal. 

But not today, today he needs the plastic, and loves it like a climber loves his safety rope. 

Today he feels the warmth from Atsumu’s lips through a tin layer of transparent food wrapping, and is as happy as can be. 

»»»«««

Atsumu is 25 and he’s having _thoughts_ . He feels a bit like those dudes in period dramas, getting all worked up because their lady touched their hand or they saw a little bit of their ankle. He used to make fun of them, but he _gets it_ now. 

He got exposed to Sakusa’s bare cheeks a few times too many and now he can’t stop thinking that he wants to kiss them. He waits, for the moment when the mask will be pushed down, looks, and yearns. For _a kiss on the cheek_ . What is he, _twelve_? And they’re almost at practice, too. He’ll have to wait until the evening to get back home, invite himself over, grab some wrap and smooch the living daylights out of him. 

He has to stay strong for an entire day. 

He doesn’t know if he’ll manage. 

He doesn’t. 

They’re barely halfway through the morning when he grabs him by the shirt, pulls slightly, and leaves the rest to what must be a desperate look on his face and Sakusa’s understanding of his antics. 

Sakusa looks at him for a second, face blank and one drop of sweat making its way slowly down his temple. Then puts a hand over Atsumu’s mouth and nose, leans in and kisses his forehead. 

Atsumu is so shocked that it takes him a moment to realize he’s being asked if he’s not feeling well. 

“No, I’m fine,” he replies, weakly. “We’re allowed to do that?” he asks, still dazed. 

“Do what?” Sakusa asks, and Atsumu raises a finger to his forehead, not trusting his words.

Sakusa shrugs. “So long as you don’t breathe in my mouth you’re fine.”

“Can you cover it for me, please?”

Sakusa wipes his hand on the front his shirt, then covers his own mouth. 

Atsumu stands on his tiptoes, balances resting his hands on Sakusa’s shoulders, and plants a kiss on his cheek. He takes a second to assess the damage, which seems to be none at all, and grins to himself. _Perfect_. Before Sakusa can lower his hand again he kisses his knuckles too, and that gets more reaction out of him than the first. Raised eyebrows. That’s it. Atsumu counts it as a win, and strolls back to carry on with practice, realizing everyone was turned to look at them, still and with slightly embarrassed looks on their faces. 

Unsurprisingly it’s Bokuto who breaks the tension slapping Atsumu’s back really hard, making him tumble forward, and shouting: “Well done!”

A couple of awkward laughs later practice starts back up as normal, and Atsumu catches Sakusa stealing way more glances at him than usual. 

Later, after having showered, he joins him by the locker room benches and sits down next to him. 

“What’s up with you today?” Sakusa asks him, already fully dressed and ready to go, but sticking around anyway just to wait for him. 

“Nothin’, why?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Mh. Well, not my fault I love ya too much to pretend not to like yer face when I see it.”

Sakusa scowls down at his knees. 

“Hey,” Atsumu pokes his side with an elbow. “Pull that up.”

Sakusa obliges, pinching the mask he’d been keeping under his chin to pull it up all the way up his nose. Atsumu waits for him to adjust it, then leans in and kisses him. He can barely feel the shape of his lips through it, and it’s a definite downgrade from the plastic wrap (which is not only thin, but also transparent. He likes to see what he’s kissing) but he makes do, and it still manages to turn his insides to jelly and make Sakusa sigh, so it’s really not that bad. 

“Come over tonight?” Sakusa asks as soon as he has pulled back. 

_Nice_ , turns out he won’t even need to invite himself this time. “Sure.” 

They have barely stepped foot into the flat, Atsumu still has one shoe on, when Sakusa is suddenly very close, and hooking a finger in his mask to pull it down. 

“Omi?” Atsumu is intimidated. Not only because he’s still in the genkan and Sakusa is one step above him, making their little height difference way more pronounced, but also because he’s looking at him pretty intensely, and if it wasn’t turning him on a little bit he’d be shitting himself. His boyfriend can be scary when he tries. “Whas—?” he starts to ask, voice slightly strangled, but Sakusa cuts him off.

“I’m mad at you.”

“ _Why_?” he pouts, looking up pleading for forgiveness at the same time. 

“Because. You were clingy all day, and you kissed me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make ya mad—”

“No. You don’t get it. I’m not mad because you kissed me. I’m made because _now_ I want to kiss _you_.”

“ _Ah_.” He hates how high pitched he sounds. He wishes he was as smooth and blunt as his boyfriend, but he can’t. His knees are threatening to give way, and he still has only one shoe on. “Wait, lemme get the—” he leans down to undo his shoelaces, but a hand shoots out to stop him. 

“No, you don’t need the wrap.”

He shoots upright again. “ _Ah!_ _Alright_.” Oh god. 

“Just don’t touch my face. You haven’t washed your hands.”

“Well, yer not giving me the _time_! I still have one shoe—” 

His lips get sealed shut by Sakusa’s pressing against them. 

_Oh. God._

It’s… hard, not to raise his hands. He can feel him breathing through his nose against his cheek and he just wants to _touch_ , but he closes his fingers around the fabric of his own shirt and squeezes to keep them in place. 

It’s warm and soft, and he’s pretty sure he’s shaking, but it’s also short, and Sakusa’s pulling back without much fuss, making his way straight to the bathroom. 

“Wait!” Atsumu calls, struggling to pull off his shoe without tripping over himself. “Omi, ya can’t leave me like that!”

“Wash your hands,” he hears him reply, before he reaches him in the bathroom and is met with an inviting hand gesture towards the sink. 

He washes, going as fast as possible but also being careful to not leave any spot out, then he turns to grab the towel and he never gets to it, because he gets pushed against the sink (it hurts his back a bit but he’s never been pushed against anything and he’s kinda loving it so he doesn’t complain) and there are hands over his cheeks, and in his hair, and lips meeting lips, teeth clacking together, and the towel is forgotten in favour of dark curls. 

“Does this mean we can forget about the wrap?” he asks, breathless, kissing Sakusa’s jaw, reveling in the way it gets a gasp out of him and a hand clenched in his shoulder.

“Maybe,” Sakusa replies, grabbing his cheeks again to pull his head up and catch his lips again. “Don’t push your luck.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The next morning Atsumu wakes up with a finger poking at his forehead. He raises a hand and swats it away. The finger comes back, though, insistent and unrelenting. 

He cracks one eye open, and sees his boyfriend’s familiar scowl aimed at him. What a nice way to wake up. “Mhhh whaa…?” he mumbles, squishing his cheek against the pillow. He’s pretty sure he still has time to sleep, he heard no alarm. 

“You’re invading my half.”

“Uh?” _Half of what?,_ he thinks, then he remembers he was staying the night at Sakusa’s, and they had two fluffy pillows to divide the giant bed in half. He gains consciousness of his limbs and acknowledges that yes, indeed he is hugging one of said fluffy pillows very tight with all his body, one of his legs thrown over it and hanging out dangerously in Sakusa territory. “Shit— sorry,” he quickly detaches himself from the pillow and turns on his back, retreating all of his wayward limbs in their designed half. He cracks some stiffness out of his neck and closes his eyes again, ready to get what he thinks is at least another hour of sleep, but Sakusa has other plans. 

“I didn’t say you had to move,” he says, in that slightly annoyed tone of voice of his, and Atsumu cracks one eye open again. 

“Eh?”

“You didn’t have to move.”

“Then why did ya wake me up?” he complains, turning on his side again, and going back to the comfortable position he had found before being woken up. 

“Because it’s time to wake up.”

“No it ain’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Didn’t hear no alarm,” he goes on, eyes closed again and face smushed against the upper one of the pillows. 

“That’s because you sleep like a rock and you never hear them.”

“Mmm maybe.” 

“Get up.”

“Nooo… Ya can go make breakfast, I’ll just… sleep five more minutes and catch up with ya.”

“I’m leaving without you if you’re not in the kitchen in ten minutes.”

“Aaawright.” Atsumu yawns, and settles back down. He feels the mattress shift slightly, probably Sakusa getting up, and he opens his eyes again. “Omiiii,” he calls. 

“What?”

“Kiss?” he asks, tilting his chin up. 

“Ew, you didn’t brush your teeth yet.”

“Neither did you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Sakusa’s climbing back into bed, and leaning down towards him holding himself up with his arms. Atsumu closes his eyes, smiling and puckering his lips slightly, getting ready for his rightful morning kiss, instead Sakusa’s lips connect with his forehead, and when he opens his eyes again his boyfriend is already back on his feet and halfway to the door. 

“Rude, Omi-Omi” Atsumu says, watching him go over his shoulder, and he means ‘I love you’. 

“Ten minutes, Miya,” Sakusa says, and Atsumu falls back into the pillow, a giddy smile on his face, because he knows it means ‘I know’.

»»»«««

“Omi.”

Kiyoomi opens his eyes, and looks up at his boyfriend, who’s staying a good meter away, crouching in front of him, hands on his knees to keep balance. 

“Water?” Atsumu asks. It’s become a sort of code, to ask if he’s having a panic attack or just a normal amount of freak out. 

Kiyoomi shakes his head. 

He’s not panicking. He’s just tired. He wants to lay down and sleep for ten years. 

“Can I come close?”

“Yeah.” His voice is muffled by the mask, and he doesn’t like the little rasp behind it. For all the times to get a cold, the qualifiers week for the Olympics really must be the worst. 

“Do you think maybe sitting on the floor isn’t the best way to make the cold go away?” Atsumu asks, settling down beside him, legs straight in front of him. 

“Mmh,” Kiyoomi replies, putting his head back down on his knees again. 

“Want help gettin’ back in bed?”

“No, I’m fine here.” 

“Yer not.”

“Am too.”

Atsumu bumps his shoulder against his. 

“How did you get into my house?” Kiyoomi mumbles. 

“You gave me the keys cause you love me, remember?”

“A really poor decision on my part.”

Atsumu laughs and snakes a hand under his arm. “C’mon ya bastard, let’s get ya to bed.”

“Leave me here..:”

“And I thought I was the dramatic one in this relationship!” Atsumu comments, hoisting him up on his feet with sheer arm strength. 

“Shut up.”

“Get in bed.” 

He pulls him by the arm, and Kiyoomi goes, legs too jelly to resist much. “ _Fine_.” 

“You want me to stay here with you?” 

“No way, we have to win.”

“Aww, you think I’m so indispensable for the team, that’s sweet.”

“No, but what if Kageyama sprains his ankle?”

“Wait, yer just saying I’m a discount Kageyama now?”

“Yeah.”

“Shut yer mouth! Get in bed and just shuddup will ya!” 

Kiyoomi grumbles, but slips back under the covers. Atsumu stays by his side just until he’s sure he’s well settled under there, then moves out of the room and comes back a few minutes later with a glass of water, putting it on his nightstand. 

He sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out a hand to push Kiyoomi’s curls out of his sweaty forehead. “Get yer mask off when I’m gone, alright? Gotta get all the air you can get into that blocked nose of yers.”

“Sure,” Kiyoomi mumbles, tilting his head just a little to make his job at being caring a little more difficult. “I’ll just infect the whole house in the process, no big deal.”

“I’ll clean it up when I get back, don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I’ll do it anyway.” His hand stops and rests on his cheek. “Just don’t worry ‘bout it, sleep and rest, you’ll get better in no time.” He leans down, and Kiyoomi holds his breath as he stamps a little kiss on his now free forehead. 

“Just go already, you’ll be late,” he grumbles, and Atsumu chuckles. 

“Love you too, Omi.”

“I don’t, I hate you, I don’t know what you’re doing here.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

“Shut up, _god_ , Miya. I swear I’m gonna hit you.” 

He smiles, and gives his forehead one last little flick before getting up and moving towards the door. 

“Hey,” Kiyoomi calls after him just when he reaches the threshold. 

He turns, eyebrows raised and hand on the frame. “Mh?”

“Win.”

Atsumu smiles, winks, and says: “Of course.” And then he’s gone. 

Kiyoomi waits to hear the front door close, then unhooks his mask from behind his ears and puts it on the bedside table. He looks at the glass of water parked there and despite his best efforts can’t help but smile. 

It’s been two years, since they had more or less willingly confessed to each other. Two years of sharing things Kiyoomi never thought he would have to share, let alone be happy to. 

Two years of loving Atsumu Miya. From that day he came to his house crying because Hinata had sent a picture of him and Kageyama on holiday together in the group chat and still had had the conscientiousness to go wash his hands thoroughly before flopping down face first into his kitchen table, he had loved him. Through the good days, and the bad days, and the days that were just in between, through wins and losses, arguments and kisses that went from plastic wraps to cheeks to lips, through verbal jabs and finger poking, he loved Atsumu Miya and he knew he’ll never stop. 

He had other plans for the day, he was supposed to go play the match, get the first service ace and make fun of Atsumu for having beat him to it, win the game, kiss his boyfriend, and ask him to marry him. That had been the plan. Now he has a cold, he’s stuck in bed, and everything has gone to hell. At least it’s just a cold and not the flu. If he had a fever he would have freaked out way more. His only problem is his stuffed nose that doesn’t let him breathe properly and his throat that is on fire. He also knows exactly why he caught it, and it’s because the day before Atsumu had rushed him to get out of the gym to go eat dinner before his hair had dried properly after the shower. It’s all Atsumu’s fault. He doesn’t deserve all the nice things Kiyoomi thinks of him, he doesn’t deserve the ring he has hidden in his bedside table drawer. 

Kiyoomi sighs, gets a hand out of the covers and opens the drawer. He looks at the little box sitting idly in it, and thinks he’ll have to wait for the cold to pass before going through with it. Well, what’s one more week? 

His phone buzzes near the glass of water, and he takes it to read a message in the old MSBY group chat that they somehow still use despite having more or less all moved on to other teams. It’s Bokuto wishing him to get well soon and attaching a picture of Atsumu looking distressed in the changing room. 

Another buzz, a reply from Hinata that reads “he really doesnt know what to do with himself its adorable!” cue a thousand blushing and hearts emojis, followed by a more serious “get beeter soon Omi-san!!” And a string of everyone else repeating “beeter” over and over again. A picture from Atsumu of a flustered Hinata glaring at his phone, with the caption “beeter”. 

Kiyoomi smiles, and replies “Already feeling beeter, thank you.” 

Hinata replies with a “:P” and then it all goes silent. 

He gets one private message from Atsumu: “We’re gonna win this in your honor, Omi” 

He replies “You’d better. Good luck.” and then places the phone back on the nightstand. The match is going to start soon. He guesses he could get up and watch it on tv, but he’s tired. He’ll watch the highlights later. Now he wants to sleep, and not think about anything for a little while. 

»»»«««

Atsumu is giddy. Not just because Sakusa finally returned to practice after his cold, but also because finally he gets his chance to be extra-romantic and floor his boyfriend with how good of a catch he really is. 

He can barely stand still, which isn’t such a hindrance since he’s supposed to be jumping around anyway. 

Practices with team Japan were always more intense than with the Jackals, and not only because they had a bunch of more serious players to keep them in check (namely Ushiwaka, who if they even just hinted at wanting to create a ruckus would simply shut them up with a single glance). 

In any case, Atsumu is running on excess energy today, and is glad to give it all to the game. They won the qualifiers, of course, and now have to get ready for the actual Olympics.

Everyone seems excited, even Sakusa, who surprises everyone by accepting to go out with them after practice for dinner. He looks at Atsumu after agreeing, with a glare that dares him to comment on it. 

He doesn’t. Atsumu had other plans for the evening (get him home, cook him dinner, get some nice candles out, pop a little box out), but he guesses he can just do that after dinner, when they get back. He can invite himself over, since he’s basically already living there, and it will all work out just fine all the same. 

Dinner out with a bunch of rowdy athletes is always a shit show, and Atsumu usually revels in it. He gets to be as stupid as his heart desires, and there will always be someone trying to one-up him. It’s the best thing in the world, and tonight is even better because there’s Sakusa sitting next to him and making fun of him, and drinking maybe a bit too much for his standards, and smiling secretly at him, and he just loves him so much he’s tempted to get it over with right there and then, get down on one knee and ask him to be his forever. But he waits. He has to. Sakusa wouldn’t like having everyone looking at them at a moment like that. 

At least, that’s what he thinks. 

Dinner is almost over, they’re all pleasantly buzzed but not drunk, Bokuto is shouting over the table some story about the time he raced a dog on the street while jogging, and everyone is laughing along, when Sakusa drops his head on Atsumu’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” Atsumu greets him, voice soft enough to be heard only by him, looking down at his dark curls and draping an arm around his back. “How’re ya doing?” 

“Are they always this loud?” Sakusa replies. 

Atsumu looks back up at the table, where everyone seems very intent on starting a war throwing bottle caps at each other. “Yeah, they’re—” 

He stops, because Sakusa has grabbed hold of his hand under the table, and is holding it over his knee, and is slipping something on his ring finger, and it’s definitely a ring. 

“What—” he starts to ask, but Sakusa raises his head, looks him in the eyes, and with the most deadpan tone possible tells him: “Marry me.”

Atsumu headbutts him. 

To be fair, he didn’t mean to. 

Five minutes (and a trip to the bathroom to get his nose to stop bleeding) later, Atsumu watches Sakusa carefully sanitize his hands in the middle of the corridor just outside the restroom, a deep scowl on his bruised forehead. 

“Omi,” he calls as he approaches. He lays out his hands so he can drop a bit of alcohol on them too, and then goes on cleaning them even if he just came out of the bathroom and has just washed them. 

“So?” Sakusa asks after a beat, leaning his back against the wall, hands clasped together in front of him. 

“Mh? I’m sorry for hitting ya.”

“No, I… you haven’t answered. My question.”

Atsumu smiles, and leans his shoulder on the wall next to him. “You stole my thunder.”

Sakusa looks at him, squinting. “What? You’re the one who ruined my surprise by being stupid. Now everyone will want to know what happened.”

“Yeah, but I’m not getting engaged just outside the bathroom of a restaurant, it’s just one little step above getting engaged _inside_ a bathroom.”

“Miya,” Sakusa says in a scolding tone. 

“Let’s go back to the table and we can do that again, alright?” he says, offering a hand. 

Sakusa looks at his hand as if it has personally offended him, and Atsumu realizes he must be looking at the ring still on his finger. “I’m not giving this back to you.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

“Come with me and find out.” He waves his hand a little, and Sakusa takes it. 

He pulls him all the way back to the table, between the cheers of his teammates, who ask if they’re okay, what happened, were they so drunk that they missed while trying to kiss? Atsumu shushes everyone and sits down, pulling Sakusa down in the seat next to him. He looks about ready to kill someone, or maybe barf. 

Atsumu squeezes his hand, as encouragement, and then declares, “Yes, Kiyoomi. I would very much like to marry ya.” 

The table erupts in even more cheers, someone starts slapping his back, but Atsumu has eyes only for the redness climbing up Sakusa’s cheeks. 

“In fact!” he shouts over the bustle, and reaches into his bag laying just behind him. He pulls out a little box, kept inside a little transparent plastic bag, and presents it to Sakusa on top of his open palms. He thinks again and opens the plastic bag, so that Sakusa can reach inside and take it. “I cleaned it like five times at home, c’mon, take it.”

Sakusa looks at him with wide eyes and a set of eyebrows that if he didn’t know him so well he would think looks angry. But he’s just surprised, and Atsumu can’t stop smiling, pushing his hands towards the other man and urging him to get it over with. 

The whole table, maybe the whole restaurant, is cheering him on, and Sakusa slowly reaches inside the bag to pluck out the little box. 

“Are you serious, right now.”

Atsumu raises his eyebrows. “Open it.”

Sakusa does, and the glint of the ring sends a shiver down Atsumu’s back. He’s really doing this. “Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he announces, loud and theatrical, the exact opposite of how he had imagined doing this, but still good, “Will ya give me the honor to become my husband?”

Sakusa squeezes his eyes closed, and raises a hand to his face to hold his forehead. “You’re giving me a headache, Miya.”

Atsumu smiles, tilting his head just so he can see his face under his hand. “Will ya?” he repeats. 

“Yes, fuck. Of course,” he replies, letting his hand fall from his face, and finally smiling too. 

“Put it on, then,” Atsumu whispers, in between the cheers. 

Sakusa sighs, obliges, looks at his hand with a puzzled tilt in his eyebrows, then shakes his head and grabs the back of Atsumu’s head. “C’m’ere.” he mumbles, before closing their lips together and breathe a soft “I really hate you for this,” against them. 

Atsumu smiles into the kiss, and drops the plastic bag to hold onto Sakusa’s arms, not even hearing the voices still cheering all around them. 

"To being alone, but together," Atsumu whispers against his lips, remembering a past toast, at the gala dinner, when he'd been just so desperate to spend some time with him he had even offered to be his wingman. How stupid he was. 

"That's lame," Sakusa whispers back, and then adds, "I'm bringing back the plastic wrap if you plan to keep being so gross."

Atsumu clutches at his heart. "Oh no! My mortal enemy!" 

"Just shut up," Sakusa says, and kisses him again.

“To be _fair_ ,” Atsumu says, as he pulls his fianceè ( _fianceè_! He still can’t believe that) inside his flat, later that evening, “I was plannin’ to ask you now, in the quiet and calm of your home, not in the middle of a crowd. Planned to have a quiet dinner, cook for ya, I even bought umeboshi, can ya believe?, smooch ya loads, and ask the big question. Thought ya’d like that better, but ya ruined my plans. Like all of ‘em.” 

Sakusa laughs, that quiet and absolutely perfect laugh of his, and kisses him against the door, pushing it closed with his weight. 

“It was very rude, if ya ask me,” Atsumu goes on complaining in between kisses. “Ya should’ve consulted me first.”

“Oh, I apologize. I had to wait a week to be able to kiss you again and now you tell me I should have waited even more?” 

“What? A week? What was yer plan?”

“I wanted to ask you after the qualifiers. As celebration for the win.”

“Ya went around assuming we would win, modest, I like that.”

“You _did_ win, so shut up. The cold ruined my plan anyway.”

“Well, mine too, ya know. I wanted to ask you the same day.”

“Really?”

“Swear! We must be soulmates or some shit.”

Sakusa huffs another little laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

He kisses him again, and again, and again. 

»»»«««

Kiyoomi tells him. He tells him everything. 

He tells him how sometimes it feels like Atsumu is the only fixed spot in the universe, and when everything is swirling too fast just remembering that he exists will slow things down. 

He tells him how he loves his voice, how hearing him talk on and on about nothing at all makes every day they spend apart worthy just so he can hear him talk about what happened to him while they weren’t together. 

He tells him he's the person he's been closest to, all his life. He hadn't even allowed his cousin to know him so deeply, and they had spent most of their childhood together. He tells him that sometimes he feels like Atsumu knows him more than he knows himself, and that it's both terrifying and exhilarating. 

He tells him that everyone had always tried to fix him, get him to stop being so freaked out by the world, by germs, by people, and how never once he had felt like Atsumu was trying to fix him. Just helping, offering a hand when it was allowed, keeping his distance when it was not, prodding at the walls gently and always asking first, making sure Kiyoomi was prodding at the same spot from the other side, so they’d chip it away together one piece at a time. 

He tells him he won’t get better overnight. He tells him there will be good days, _great_ days even, just like this one or even better, but there will also be worse days, and there will mostly be days in-between, just like there have always been, with lots of cleaning, minor freak outs in slightly crowded places, hands scrubbed raw and red under freezing water, and Atsumu whispers “I know,” against his ear, and it makes the hair at the base of his neck stand on end. 

He tells him that he’s the first person he ever felt anything for, and would probably be the last, and Atsumu cries a little, face hidden in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

He tells him he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and Atsumu asks “Will ya wear my golden tie at the wedding, then?” 

Kiyoomi pushes him against the mattress in the space that was once occupied by two fluffy pillows and smothers his laugh with a kiss. 

They both know it means 'yes'.

»»»«««

The following year there are two Miyas in the Japan national team, numbers 13 and 11, and everyone is blown off their seats when the big screen in the stadium catches, for the first time in the four odd years of his V.League Division 1 volleyball career, the smile of one outside hitter Miya Kiyoomi.

**Author's Note:**

> as always kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> if you want to come scream with me about that unripe banana sakusa kiyoomi you can find me on tumbrl at [dr-awkward221b](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/dr-awkward221b) or at [m-art-i](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/m-art-i) (my art blog) and on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/m_art_i_) too! (i might post soon some art to go with this because I really can't stop thinking about them so stay tuned lol
> 
> also watch pushing daisies if you haven't already cause it's excellent
> 
> EDIT: i did it, [I drew them](https://m-art-i.tumblr.com/post/629714438541524992/so-sakuatsu-owns-my-entire-heart-atm-and-i-had-to)
> 
> EDIT2: [whoops I did it again](https://m-art-i.tumblr.com/post/629895419708702720/just-dont-touch-my-face-you-havent-washed-your) \- it's the kiss... you know the first proper one ;) the "i only have one shoe" one


End file.
